Bavarian Porcelain
by AmyMarie1997
Summary: Clarisse painting, spilled tea and Clarisse & Joe. My first ever fanfic, based on a song "Bavarian Porcelain" by Seawolf, just can't stop thinking of them whenever I hear it ... *I dont own the characters, or the music, just here to have fun*


Clarisse had been quiet all day, Joseph was well aware. She'd been in her private study all day and had only called for tea once, it was strange, awfully strange. Had she been doing paperwork, she'd have called for tea at least three times by now. Rupert had been in parliament and dealing with paperwork all day, Clarisse wouldn't have needed to do any paperwork, he thought to himself. Joseph checked his watch, she'd been in there for four hours. A few paces of the door later, he knew he'd have to check on her.

Joseph cracked the door open slowly, using his foot to stop the creaking. Stood in the light by the window, there she was painting at an easel, with a painstakingly focused look on her face. In all of these years he'd never seen her paint and looking at what she'd completed, he knows why. He couldn't tell what it was, but the masterpiece was always her. The light hitting her navy cardigan perfectly, accentuating the blonde in her hair, her alabaster skin.

Clarisse was growing impatient, she hadn't painted in years, god knows what compelled her to do so. Looking at her painting, she realised it didn't even look like her gorgeous garden anymore, just a wash of mixed muddy greens, with small dots of white in the middle, which were supposed to be roses. Exasperated she put her paintbrush down on the easel, turning to step back to take a different perspective, when she noticed Joseph peeping through the door.

"Oh my, how long have you been there?" Clarisse asked surprised

Joseph stepped into the study, walking towards her and closing the door behind him "I've been outside the door all day of course, You caught me peeping though. You've been quiet, I thought something was wrong."

"oh dear, well I suppose something is wrong, the Queen of Genovia has no talent with a paintbrush." She replied clearly fed up with her painting.

Joseph moved just behind his Queen, looking at the painting "I can see that you were inspired by your roses, although abstract, It's still beautiful." Joseph replied, trying to comfort her.

"Oh hush, you have to say that, I could have you beheaded for badmouthing." Clarisse replied jokingly.

Stepping closer beside her, Joseph spoke softly "you know I'd never lie to my Queen, I do know that she needs a break however, she gets awfully riled up when she's not had a tea in a while."

turning towards him cupping his face, as per their usual custom, her mouth turning up at the sides to deliver that smile he'd never tire of. "my loyal head of security always knows exactly what I need."

Her hand leaving his face, Joseph turned towards the direction of the phone, calling for Pricilla to bring up some tea.

Clarisse had turned towards the couch, sat down, foot tucked behind the ankle as per usual. Joseph joining her on the couch facing slowly after.

Looking at her, he couldn't help but ask, "So, why painting? I've never seen you paint before, not in all of these years." Joseph asked jovially

"Oh, I suppose I was bored, as silly as it seems. I woke to find Rupert in meetings all day and my desk empty of paperwork. But my roses in the garden looked so peaceful, I wanted to try my hand at painting them." She replied honestly, waving her hand to the direction of the easel "of course, I did a bloody awful job." Starting to laugh and bringing her hand to a rest beneath her face.

"You do yourself an injustice, it's fabulous." Joseph replied smiling at her remark and unqueenly swearing.

"I know you're lying, Joseph." Clarisse said laughing softly.

A knock at the door interrupts, "must be the tea" Joseph states, saved by the bell, standing to receive the tray from Pricilla at the door, quickly returning to his seat.

"You're just agitated from concentrating, you'll feel better after this." Joseph replies, pouring the tea into the small porcelain teacups, the ones that always look too small and delicate in his hands, but perfectly small and delicate in hers.

Clarisse breathes in, the smell of bergamot quickly filling the room "Earl Grey. My, you do know me too well." She says chuckling softly.

Her accent, the way her British comes out in her T's, the rolling of her R's, the Genovian purr enhancing the sentence. Joseph stops pouring and places the teapot down, reaching for the free hand placed on her lap, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, the rough calloused skin, meeting her smooth skin. "When it comes to you, I like to know everything I can to please you, my Queen." Joseph says sincerely, his gaze piercing hers, the tension within the room heavy as the bergamot laden steam rising from the teacups. He lets go of her hand, quickly drawing his attention back to the tea, adding milk and sugar. A lump for her, half for him.

Clarisse looks down after he let go, almost sad having lost his connection. She retreats her hand into itself, curling alike the bergamot mist. She's not surprised at his remark, the meaning behind it. It's forbidden, treason. She meets his eyes again. Softly, almost muttering she starts "Joseph…"

He picks up his teacup, sitting back rigidly "I know … there's no need Clarisse."

They both nod in their silent agreement, of course she knows of the feelings between then, he knows too. The both of them bound to silence at the hand of the crown.

Clarisse sits forward to pick up her teacup, a small sigh escaping her lips. She's a little shaken. Her hand grips the handle of the Bavarian porcelain, an old wedding gift from the president. Her hand slips…

Joseph swears the world launched into slow motion, he couldn't stop the cup from landing as fast as it did, the tea spilling all over the floor, the porcelain shattering as it hit the side of the table, shards flying everywhere.

He didn't know when or how he'd stood, just that he wasn't fast enough, she'd already cut herself.

She'd panicked and moved slightly trying to avoid the shatter, but resulting in a shard falling more directly towards her, landing in her leg. Before she could even register the pain, he was at her side, looking at her so desperately and intensely.

"Clarisse…" Joseph muttered almost incoherently.

"I'm fine, Joseph, it's just a small cut." She replied shrugging it off, ignoring the stabbing sensation. Looking down she noticed the shard in her calf, blood starting to trickle down her leg, wincing at the sight.

Watching her wince, that was it, she was in pain and he knew it. Shaking his head, he replied "No Clarisse, I'm taking you to the doctor, immediately."

Rolling her eyes, she looked at him in his flustered state. "Joseph, no, just take the shard out and we'll use one of the first aid kits to sort the rest out. I'll be fine, I promise." She stated in her queen like manner, giving out orders.

Calming slightly, Joseph stood, crossing the room and returning with the bright red first aid kit. Standing above her, looking inquisitively into her eyes, his still flooded with concern. "Are you sure you want me to … I can just get the doctor, it won't take long."

Looking at him impatiently now, Clarisse stares at Joseph. "As you said, it won't take long, I'm not going to disrupt the whole palace over a little cut." she softens slightly, "Plus I don't want to lose my time with my head of security … please."

His expression softens, he kneels at her side, quickly and carefully removing the shard, with remarkably little to no pain. The wound cleaned and checked for smaller shards and bandaged with care, his full attention given.

He finishes, looking up to see Clarisse looking down at him softly, smiling, her gaze filled with adoration and gratitude. Propriety shifts and she's leaning down to him, their lips meeting softly, full of the love and care they mustn't speak of. His hand curling up to her face, finding her jaw.

They break away slowly, Joseph pulling his hand away, they stay like that for a few moments. Joseph sat on the floor and Clarisse on the couch, her bandaged leg now not so properly folded behind her ankle. She looks down to him and mutters quietly "Thank you, Joseph."

Joseph doesn't sleep that night. While she was fine in the end, and in a few days the mark no longer existed, Joseph felt useless, unable to protect her from little accidents. He can just see it all play over and over again, the broken glass, white shards and bright red tea. Over and over again.


End file.
